Rage

I bet it’s not hard for you to imagine something you’re raging over right now. A slight at work, immigration, trans-rights, a boundary crossed, a promise broken, a thing of yours taken that you believe was yours. How much energy does that rage cost you? How long have you been spending that energy?

Homer’s “Iliad” opens with two powerful men — Achilles and Agamemnon — who are pissed at each other over honor and a woman taken as a bounty of war. Their fight with each other is about standing, who gets to claim what, and public humiliation. Their nation, Greece, is at war with Troy; and Achilles is so furious by his issue with Agamemnon that he withdraws from the fight all together, willing to let his own people die than fight for a leader who disrespected him.

The Greeks and the Trojans have been at it for nine years. Why? A woman taken, an act that violated hospitality and marriage and conveniently gave both sides an opportunity to war. The gods don’t help, they amplify everything, whisper in ears, tilt the scales, and turned an issue that could have been resolved through cooperation into something that must be avenged.

The “Iliad” tells the stories of warriors who die for perceived slights. For loyalty to family lineage. For national honor. For orders given by men who claim divine favor. The text is full of young men killing each other over things that appear ridiculous. And yet, given the amplification by the gods and the moment itself, it all feels righteous.

That kind of thing could never happen now.

Except, the “Iliad” isn’t just about war. It’s about when warring takes a beat and pauses. When fighting does stop, it’s not because a victor emerges, it’s because warriors choose to see each other differently.

Homer writes about a fight between Hector (Trojan) and Ajax (Greek). The heralds interrupt the fight. They agree to duke it out the next day. But before they part ways, they exchange gifts — parting as friends who see each other worthy of their respect.

Armies pause for funeral rites. Greeks and Trojans both recognize that mourning the dead are obvious reasons not to fight. It’s understood that, universally, that death is pain and deserves its time.

Go to the first question: how much are you spending on your rage? And how long have you been raging?

What would you need to see in a person, or an idea, that would make you choose to pause? What would you need to see in yourself?

Gods, in the Iliad, are like media (social or any kind) — they amplify a narrative. They rouse a will to war, or rage, against a person or an idea. The gods are the voices in your head that tell you that you’re right and just and the others are wrong and evil. Why give those voices power?

Your enemy, is a person who also fears humiliation, carries wounds, and believes they’re defending something just as important as what you believe yourself to be defending. That doesn’t make your enemy right and you wrong, and it doesn’t make you right and your enemy wrong. It does mean that you and your enemy have something in common — a shared and fragile humanity.

Your enemy might be an idea. And I argue that an idea is not a person, it’s a story we want to tell ourselves and that we want to be alive or dead. And ideas left unattended and unchecked can be intoxicating and dangerous. Ideological humility is a virtue. Hold your story lightly enough to recognize it’s a story — one that can inspire you but isn’t finished, isn’t complete, and doesn’t capture all of reality.

The choice to see the shared humanity is not a one-time choice. It’s a persistent practice. It requires effort and constant reinforcement. It may not seem worth it because the ideological or physical stakes may look too high. I maintain the practice is worth it and is felt in the long-run.

I am a realist and I advocate for peace. Not because it’s easy or because conflicts aren’t real, but because the alternative — years of life and energy raging over harms appears absurd from any distance. And because when I choose to hold space for the enemy in my head and my heart, I feel most alive.


Last modified on 2026-01-26